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    Dr. Wessinger’s office


    Approximately forty minutes later


    N-Vorl and Teresa have since transitioned their lovemaking to the floor. Tracing a finger along the scarring on Teresa’s chest, N-Vorl meets her gaze.


    “How did it happen?” N-Vorl asks. “The wounds on your chest mounds? How were they made?”


    Teresa’s eyes appear to cloud over and she draws her lips firmly together. The tightening of her jaw clues N-Vorl in that the experience was much less than pleasant. Nevertheless, he pushes her to tell him more. It is N-Vorl’s belief that talking about her ordeal will bring Teresa peace—that she will be able to find honor in her struggles. He is thinking only as a yautja.


    “I’d rather not talk about it,” Teresa says and turns her face away.


    She blinks rapidly to stop the tears which threaten to flow. N-Vorl takes her chin in one of his hands and turns her face back to him.


    “Tell me,” N-Vorl insists. “I am your mate. I wish to know how these wounds were made. To survive a battle is not a dishonor. To not survive is the dishonor.”


    “What?” Teresa cries, her eyes growing wide. “Ha. You have no idea what you’re talking about, N-Vorl!”


    “Then, tell me,” N-Vorl responds.


    Repositioning herself, Teresa sits up. N-Vorl does the same, his gaze locked on Teresa’s face. Teresa’s anger is evident, but she keeps it in check. N-Vorl is not the enemy. A little pushy, stubborn, and na?ve; but not the enemy. His way, is all he knows. Were she in his position, she might do the same.


    “Okay,” Teresa says softly. “If you really want to know…I was assaulted. By an ooman male. After I was drugged…I dreamt of you. Only it wasn’t you…Like you are now. It was another you. An angrier, crueler version of you. I was in a room filled with blood and bones. Human remains hung from the ceiling like slabs of meat. In the dream, you sat in a corner. Behind a curtain of bodies. Skinned… Bleeding…Stinking bodies. I called to you, and you tried to murder me. You stabbed me with your arm blades…”


    Teresa reaches down and caresses her belly. N-Vorl finds himself watching her hand in fascination. He is appalled by the idea that Teresa would even dream such a vile thing. Does she truly believe such a future is a real possibility?


    “But then, you gave me something. An aerosol. Similar to the one you administered to me aboard the California. Except this aerosol, kept me from dying. In the dream…You stabbed me over and over. You cut me deeper and deeper every time. When the researchers analyzed my dreams…This was the part they most frequently wanted reenacted. Dr. Wessinger hired a prisoner…To abuse me during the dream sessions. He was…Not exactly gentle. It was he who gave me these scars.”


    Teresa pauses in her recounting. She studies N-Vorl’s face, which is contorted in a mask of utter disbelief. Many of the details within Teresa’s dream are not far from reality. The work of a hunter is often bloody and brutal to witness. But to believe this of him? That he could be so cruel to one he holds dear? These details, N-Vorl is having the hardest time digesting.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


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    “Did you think it was going to be a glorious retelling, N-Vorl?” Teresa says bitterly. “Did you think I got this way because I fought valiantly and sacrificed my…Chest mounds…On the altar of blood and oaths?? No, N-Vorl! I did not. I was tortured. I was dehumanized. I was humiliated. And I was very nearly broken. There were times, I wished for death. But it never came. There was nothing glorious…Or honorable…About what happened to me. And I’d rather we didn’t talk about it ever again.”


    With thoughts of restoring their previously jovial mood, Teresa leans forward and kisses N-Vorl on the forehead. N-Vorl releases a sigh and grips Teresa’s waist with his strong hands.


    “I bet you regret our…Little arrangement now?” Teresa teases.


    “Not as much as you might think,” N-Vorl responds in a mocking tone.


    Teresa tosses back her head and laughs. N-Vorl reaches up and cups her face with one hand. He uses the other hand to trace the length of her spine with a clawed finger. This trick usually causes Teresa’s body to tremble slightly—her body does not disappoint. N-Vorl’s eyes grow dim as he considers what the future may hold for them both. Teresa uses an open palm to playfully slap N-Vorl’s left shoulder.


    “I need to find some new clothes,” Teresa says. “And I need a bath. Come on. We should get moving.”


    Kissing N-Vorl’s forehead a second time, Teresa gently pries his hand from around her waist.


    “Come on,” Teresa teases. “You know, I’m right. We’ve wasted almost an hour already.”


    “I wouldn’t say it was a waste,” N-Vorl complains grumpily.


    “You know what I mean,” Teresa says, shrugging back into her patient’s gown. “I mean…We could have been doing other things. Now, come on. You’ll need to be here in case Mau-Nis shows up. I’ll be along a little later.”


    Crossing back to the couch, Teresa extends her hand to N-Vorl. She patiently waits for him to take it. Once on his feet, N-Vorl makes himself presentable for the walk to the showers. Glancing back, he decides to leave his robe on the couch. It’s not as if anyone would dare steal it.


    -


    -


    Teresa rips the caution tape from the door to orderly Meyer’s room. Using a rifle commandeered from what she can only assume was a dead guard, Dr. Boyd shoots off the keypad. It suddenly occurs to her that there may be cloaked yautja warriors nearby. The door to Meyer’s room slides open and Teresa hurriedly slips inside—grateful that she has not activated any alarms.


    Signs of a struggle are everywhere. Meyer’s glass end table is overturned, there are large rips in the carpeting, and dark stains cover the walls and floors. One such stain resembling a slender handprint. This is the handiwork of a sadistic killer. Felon Norris.


    Swallowing hard, Teresa crosses the living room. She heads for what she assumes must be the bedroom. All signs of brutality disappear at the end of the hallway. Meyer was killed rather quickly. Teresa holds the rifle snug to her shoulder, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.


    Once inside the bedroom, she strolls toward the bureau and rummages through the top drawers.


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    She glances over the apartment one more time. As much as she hated Meyers, no woman—no person—deserves to die like this. At the hands of someone as sick as Felon Norris. Teresa begins to wonder just how much Weyland Industries really knows about Dr. Wessinger. Surely, murder on this scale is a bit much—even for a company with a reputation as scummy as Weyland’s.


    Checking the hallway for unannounced visitors—as if she would know if a cloaked warrior were around—Teresa heads back to the admin corridor. N-Vorl will be waiting for her.